


When The Wolf Comes Home

by secret_stories



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-24
Updated: 2015-04-07
Packaged: 2018-03-19 08:43:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3603735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secret_stories/pseuds/secret_stories
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beth wakes up in Grady after three weeks in a coma. She has lost everything she is and is filled with anger. When she comes across people who take her in, it is not her family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I know this has been done to death a little already but I promise it's a different angle! I just bashed this out in one big rant so sorry for my rubbish proofing and everything. 
> 
> It's kind of more bones than a fully fleshed story because I'm too impatient and want to get the plot out!

The darkness threatens to swallow her every time she nears the surface, the bubbling seething mass of empty spaces sucking her down with every breath. There is nothing but the darkness and the nothingness for so long. When she opens her eyes, the light is blinding, baffling, she knows it is light, knows it is from the sun bursting through the window, knows all this but has no recollection of having experienced it before. This is light, that is the sun, that is a window, this room is a hospital. She has never been in a hospital before; never seen the play of light on the fabric of her blanket, never felt the warmth of it on her skin. This is her skin, she looks down at small, pale hands, lifts them off the bed, opens and closes them, sees the bones move beneath flesh. 

Beeping picks up then and she turns to take in the machine next to her, the wires that connect her to it. This is her heartbeat, she sees it on the screen, the jagged lines rising and falling, her life, fluttering away in green shapes. When the door opens, she turns her head to the noise, sees the light in the room change as more spills from the corridor, as shadows cross into the room. These are people, that is a doctor, that is a police officer. She has never met either before, but she knows what they are, knows what they do as they approach her slowly. 

“Hello” the doctor speaks as he moves to the machines, altering something. Checking her over, his hands are cold on her skin. Looking in her eyes, speaking to her, it all fades away, the darkness sucks her back down again. 

This happens to her many times before she can speak to the doctor. She drifts in and out as he checks her, as he asks her questions, as the light builds and fades in her hospital room. One morning, when he enters, she feels more lucid than she has previously. The darkness is still there, but she has it under control. When he talks to her, she knows to respond, she knows the move her tongue and rouse her throat, to shape her lips and make the words that feel so foreign. “Hello”. Her voice cracks and burns but the doctor smiles and tells her she is doing so well. She has been unconscious for three weeks and is healing fast. She drifts away again.

When she hears talking in the corridor she pulls herself from the nothingness, the window is dark, her room lit only by the crack of light that creeps through the door behind which, the voices mutter. They speak of a man, named Rick Grimes, a man who killed their friend and lied about it. Who was with a group of rough and violent people who killed first and asked questions later. A man who was bad and had tried to take some of those under the police officers protection away into a dangerous world. A man who had been a police officer too once but had turned into something else, a man who represented everything that was wrong with the people left in this world. The words are angry and sad and real and she slips off into twisted dreams of cruel men with guns used for fear and hurt. 

When she sits up for the first time, with the doctor’s help, she feels how weak she is, her muscles screaming at even this small movement. The doctor tells her she was severely injured but she is safe here and getting better, she will be better. She drinks water that day and the cool liquid breathes new life into her scorched and scratching throat. 

When she begins to speak in sentences that don’t burn, she asks questions. Who am I? Where am I? What happened to me? The doctor answers all her questions but does nothing to ease the emptiness in her brain. The little knowledge she has rattles around in her. Her name is Beth, no surname, no middle name, no family, no birthplace, no date of birth, nothing. She is at a hospital in Atlanta; she was shot in the head. When she lies in the darkness, everything she knows everything she has about herself twists and turns in an empty head, devoid of any memories. Beth. Beth. Beth. It means nothing, holds nothing for her. How can she have no one, nothing? How can she be here alone? Emotions rip through her in extremes, anger, betrayal, self loathing. She feels the need to fight constantly, her smalls hands clenching against the rough blanket as the anger rocks through her. She must be a bad person, she must have done bad things, why else would she have been shot, why else would she have no one. Some nights, the anger builds into a ball of rage so big she thinks she will explode. She doesn’t ask any more questions, doesn’t want to know any more details of how she came to be here. Her dreams are twisted and cruel, her thoughts jumble and ache and burn whenever she seeks more, whenever she looks past the anger, the need to do something. She pushes it all down, doesn’t let the mutilated thoughts that sound like whispers in, lets the anger wash over her.

When she first leaves her bed, she shakes and grits her teeth, needing to do this, needing to do something, needing to burn up this anger that seethes beneath her skin, that she heaves out with every breath. It takes her weeks to walk unassisted, longer to leave her room, to wonder down the dim corridor. Longer to climb the stairs, to push against the heavy door and stand on the roof, to breathe the air like life in her chest. She sees the city as she has only ever seen it. She knows it is in ruins, she knows it is because the dead rose, she know they roam the streets, feeding on the living even as they decay themselves. She knows it wasn’t always like this, they have told her, she can’t remember, this only makes her angrier. 

When she starts to train, it is with a ruthless fire. Non-stop she works herself to exhaustion every night. She barely speaks to those around her. Barely does anything other than sleep, eat and train. No one asks anything of her. The doctor still checks on her, tells her to slow down, she is still healing. She knows she needs to be ready to fight, doesn’t know why. 

When she tells the doctor she wants to leave the hospital, he tells her she shouldn’t, it is bad outside. He takes her to a place where the dead press against the metal grate, down dark dirty stairs to the uninhabited ground floor. Their faces churn and shift against the barrier, she feels their anger, rolling from their dead flesh as it moves unnaturally over their bones with every growl. The doctor tells her this is nothing compared to what it would be like on the road. She doesn’t respond, only waits a few days before going back down, taking a metal rod with her this time and meticulously killing every rotter through the gaps. It has to be the head; she knows that like she knows that grass is green even though she has never put down a dead one, even though she has never walked on the grass. 

When she tells the doctor she still wants to leave, he brings her a bag. Inside are clothes, clean but stained, worn cowboy boots, and a spoon with Washington DC etched on the metal. She runs her thumb over the words and dresses in clothes bearing marks she will never remember the source of, doesn’t bother to ask.

When she leaves, they give her a knife, a gun, a bag with ammo, food, water and a blanket. She doesn’t look back, she has her destination in mind and that is all that matters, her thumb rubbing over the spoon in her hand like a mantra, building with the anger that still seethes bright and hot inside her. Washington DC, I am a bad person, Washington DC, no one cares about me, Washington DC, everyone left me, Washington DC, I am nobody, Washington DC. She wants to watch the world burn and relishes every crunch of her knife in a rotter’s skull. She finds a map, marks a route, walks tirelessly, finds strength in the pull of her muscles as they take her from campsite to cabin to car to house, every step bringing her closer. She finds she can hunt, knows how to set snares, knows how to track, knows how to be silent, how to watch and listen and move with deadly grace. 

When she first encounters the living, they try to hurt her and she finds she knows how to kill, the anger burning and stretching and filling her as she spills blood ruthlessly. She finds she feels nothing when the hot blood coats her pale skin, nor when she surveys the two dead men on the forest floor. She knows she is a bad person, knows she must have been, knows she still is. It happens again and again, and every time she kills them, every time she walks away, sometimes bruised, sometimes scarred, sometimes limping, always alive. She rarely uses her gun. She is fast, she is strong, she is quiet. Every life she takes, every time she bathes in the blood of those who choose to fight her, she knows she is bad, she is the worst kind of person, she feels nothing but the anger that she wakes with every dawn.

There is only one man that doesn’t try to hurt her, he has no malice in his eyes and she watches him for a while before approaching. He has made a camp in a barn surrounded by a devastated forest littered with limbs. She sees the light from his fire and through cracks in the wood, she sees him remove his dark coat and mask. She is surprised when he addresses her then, his voice warm and comforting somehow out in the darkness where she crouches, “you can come inside and get warm.” She has heard similar offers before, but never like this, with no hint of anger or lie. It takes her a while, but when she joins him by the fire she doesn’t regret her decision. They watch the fire crack and spit in the darkness together as the warmth soaks through her bones. He tells her he is headed to DC, she studies him and wonders if it is a coincidence, or if there is a connection. He doesn’t ask where she is going, doesn’t ask anything of her, only watches the flames. 

She doesn’t sleep that night but when he drifts off, telling her he’s just going to take a couple of hours, she finds herself wondering more. Of all the people, of all the places, why Washington? Why are they both headed there? Quick, quiet fingers make their way to his pack and find nothing of consequence, nothing to tell her why. It is then that she sees a map in his pocket, bloodied and annotated but probably still cleaner than her own. Deftly, she slips it out of the dark fabric, he doesn’t wake and she unfolds the worn paper with barely a whisper or a crackle in the silence. The words there make her breath catch. Rick Grimes. Come to Washington. The new world. Rick fucking Grimes. The bad man, the man who hurt and lied and tried to take the helpless people. Muttered words of fear and hatred whispered behind her hospital room door, sneaking under with the crack of light in the quiet of the night. Her eyes flash to the stranger asleep by the dying fire. If he is with Rick Grimes, she doesn’t want anything to do with him. The map is quickly slipped back into his jacket and her fingers dance across her knife briefly, remembering the feeling of hot blood flowing from necks, arms, torsos, the way it dries sticky and crusty on her skin. She doesn’t want to kill this man, despite his association with a name that makes her teeth grit and hands shake with rage. She slips away, silently, leaving him unharmed and alone by the fire. She walks through the night, covering her trail, makes her way forward alone.

Washington looms on the horizon one morning, she is much closer than she thinks. The ruined city is just as stark and cold as Atlanta, the dead just as easy to kill. When the living find her this time, there are too many, too many to kill, she takes out five before they contain her, before she is stripped of weapons and held by three men and more guns. They take her to their camp, a fortified compound outside of the city; it is well armed and well stocked. There is no obvious exit other than the front gate and there are more men inside as well as women and even a few children. They all look well fed and clean. A few look curiously in her direction, the anger bubbles as her fingers itch to punch, to scratch, to claw, to tear. They take her to their leader, a large greasy man who smiles at her, impressed with how she handles herself, who tells her he needs fighters, who looks at her appraisingly and tells her she looks tough. She knows she is. He tells her they are the wolves, that they are about 50 strong, that she should join them. She is given a room but no weapons. She is given food. She is given water to wash but she prefers to keep the blood and dirt. 

The leader comes to speak with her once she has eaten. He asks her about herself, leaning against the wall of her room, watching her with dark eyes. Something inside tells her to fear this man, she tries to muster anything other than anger and fails, the anger is all there is now. She levels him with a gaze that sends his eyebrows up. He laughs, tells her he can see she is angry, he is angry too, this world is made for angry people, that is why they are both there, he tells her they are the same. He has seen the worst of people and has become worse than any of them, she can do well here, she can use her anger and fight with them. There are bad people out there, there are stupid people, weak people, people who don’t deserve what they have. 

It is a few days later that she asks to see the leader herself. She speaks to him then, in his office of looted items, useless things placed haphazardly around the room he has made his own. She sizes him up once more, hands in fists, nails digging into the dried blood that still covers her. She tells him she wants to fight, she is strong, she is angry, she is fast, she is skilled, she is deadly. She tells him she has killed countless people, countless walkers. Mostly because it was her or them, sometimes because she didn’t want to take the risk, sometimes because the anger was uncontrollable and they said the wrong thing. He laughs again, a deep booming that shakes his chest. He claps her on the shoulder and tells her she is perfect, just the way she is. 

Over the next few days, she is given her knife and gun back; she is given more ammo, a longer knife, a second gun. She is shown the compound, introduced to the men. She sees the looks as some of their eyes travel down her body. She stares them down, stares them down with such ferocity, they look to the floor. They are weaker than her and she knows it. The leader tells the others loudly that Beth is one of them now, his own personal weapon, he announces to them that she is strong and not to be messed with. Her fierce eyes back up his claim as a flash of pride surges through her. She is strong. The women don’t look at her any more, nor do the men. 

When they first take her out with them, she feels relief to be back on the road. They head out in a convoy of vehicles; big four wheeled drives, armoured and gunned. They take her to an area where the leader tells her there is another camp. He sits next to her in the back of the truck, both their knees up as he chats to her about what it is that they do. The community is weak, he tells her, they are living on borrowed time, have only survived this long due to luck. He tells her that they offer a service to the community. His teeth glint when he smiles in the half light of the truck and she sees the anger in him too, tamed and harnessed to be used in this world. She nods and listens to his words, relishing in the chance to do something, to feel something, to feel useful. He looks at her with a fire and a pride that moves something in her, she knows she is strong, knows she is bad, knows he is bad too; he makes her feel worth something. 

They come to a community where the walls are sturdy but the people aren’t. Beth stands with the other men while the Wolves stroll about the place, gathering the weak members of the small town on the hill together. The leader addresses the gathering, his voice firm and cutting, a smile on his lips. Beth watches, fascinated by his power and the way the controlled rage drips with every word. She holds her gun steady, watching the weak as they fumble and plead with the strong, asking for more time, saying they only have so much. She feels no pity, only disgust, no one has an excuse to be weak any more. You get tough, or you deserve to die. She smiles as the leader back hands a man with glasses, leaving them at an odd angle across his pathetic face. They leave with supplies, fresh vegetables, meat, things the strong deserve, that they have earned. When they leave, they sweep the area, hack down walkers like paper, empty pits dug in the woods, cut and burn and clear every one for at least 5 miles around the small hill top town. Her shoulders burn and her blood runs hot through her veins as their vehicles ferry them back to the Wolves’ camp. She eats with the men, laughs with them, smiles with them. Every bite of the fresh food tastes of power, strength, control, pride. After, when watches are being taken by some and sleep is chased by others, the leader comes to her again. She is full and sated with the day, with her place and she goes willingly with him to his cluttered office. 

The warm glow from the lanterns give the room a comfortable welcome and she sits easily in the chair he offers her. He gives her a drink, she eyes it suspiciously for a moment, the clear liquid rolling around in the cool glass. “It’s not gonna make you go blind, try it” he laughs as he necks his own drink with a smile. It burns it’s way down her throat and she remembers the way the water soothed her way back when she first woke up, at the beginning. This soothes in a different way as it skates and sears and takes the anger that constantly simmers just under her scarred skin down to a rumbling warmth in her belly. Her hand settles there, against the taught muscle, all that she is now, and she thinks of those people back at the community on the hill, their soft arms and weak bodies. She worked for this strength, she earned it with sweat and time, even with a bullet through her brain. He tells her how well she did today, she was perfect, she is perfect, she could easily become a valued member of the group. Strength like hers is hard to come by, she is special, he anger is her strength, she may be bad but that is what it takes to survive, to thrive. She drinks more with him, soaks up his words and the alcohol, feels the glow of the room surround her before she makes her way out. Stumbling slightly, she finds her way back to her bed, and, as she drifts to sleep, the anger twists to strange dreams of burning, flames lighting up the night. 

When she wakes, it is in her own bed, in her small room in a large house where a few men and women sleep. Her head pounds and she smiles at the memory of their agreement last night, she would continue to work with them, she would become one of the Wolves. His words twist and curl inside the darkness of her mind, filling it like weeds until nothing matters anymore, until she can be this, until knowing what is bad and why flickers and fades. 

There are a few other communities like the first one they visited, more bartering, more harsh words, some violence, all justified. More culling the dead, more drinking, more laughs. The leader encourages her to take part more and more until one day she is the one standing with him in front of another weak group, she is the one slamming the butt of her gun with a crunch into a balding head, she is the one threatening and taking the supplies as the leader watches with a smile. Sometimes, the weak refuse to pay for their services, they claim they haven’t enough food for themselves. When this happens, they are punished. Sometimes women are taken, sometimes blood is spilled, always a message is sent. Those walkers that would normally be burned are herded and branded, the W on their fore heads a reminder to the communities that won’t pay up. When they return to the punished town, the weak are weaker, they have lost people to the Wolves’ walkers, they have exhausted themselves with their pathetic attempts to defend themselves, they gladly give the payment for the herds to be cleared. 

They drink is his room more frequently now, sometimes eat alone together, he always does most of the talking. She sits, absorbs, nods at his words of the new order, of how the world works now, how they have to get what they get, how this is the way of things and maybe that isn’t so bad. Some nights, she is alone while he is with other women, she knows they are his, knows there are a couple of babies that are his as well, knows they are weak and need him, that they use all they have to offer. She knows she doesn’t need him, she could leave now and never look back, she knows she has more to offer than most of his men these days. She does not pity the women, they could have become strong like her, they could leave and try to make it alone, they choose to stay, they choose to trade themselves. 

One day, a scout comes back to camp, telling of a new community. It is further than the others but bigger, better, much better stocked. They have electricity, weapons, food, people. They have high walls and comfortable houses. They wander in and out of the gates in ones and twos, taking little or no weapons with them. There are children, women, elderly people. The ratio of strong to weak is entirely in the Wolves’ favour. The town called Alexandria is ripe for picking.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Wolves take Alexandria

They plot to scout it out further, to lay their plans, to begin an assault of branded walkers. They will trickle them through, slowly building the number until it is noticeable, until something of a herd is clamouring at their gates. See how they deal with them; assess the situation from there. Everything goes to plan, Wolf scouts watch and Beth and the others round up walkers, brand them and send them on their way towards Alexandria. It takes a little while. The scouts report people alone in the woods, vulnerable, women and children. Guard duty around the walls seems to be erratic and definitely less than it should be. They learn there is a sniper in a tower, with great aim, that any walkers in sight of it are taken down with easy precision. They watch and learn there are shifts taken in the tower and one sniper is better than the other until one day the other gunman doesn’t return. All the shifts fall to the woman and when she is away, no one replaces her watch. The rifle sits alone, it’s scope trained on the road with empty eyes. They watch the female sniper go out alone regularly, shooting down walkers like she’s hunting them.

 

One night, in the warm glow of his office, drink in hand, the leader talks to Beth about the new camp. She is aching from a day of hard physical labour, the alcohol soothing the pain away. She has picked up a few more scars today, a few more bruises, a few more marks of her strength. “I want you to take the lead on this one.” He isn’t smiling as he says it, his dark eyes glinting in the low light. Muscles bulging underneath his shirt as he leans forward in his seat opposite her, hand moving to grasp her knee. She flicks her eyes up to meet his, seeing the seriousness of his statement as he continues. “This is your shout, I’m going to hold back and let you take it from here. You need to come up with a plan, subdue this town, sort a system. You’re smarter than all my other men, hell, you’re probably smarter than me. You’re strong Beth, you’re a survivor, and you have what it takes to be a leader. You can take that town, make them bow to you, take what you deserve, harness that anger I see in your eyes every day.” He swirls his drink and takes a sip, surveying her, leaning back. “You have no mercy, you have shown me nothing but ruthless strength, you are everything that works in this world. You’ve got this, I have no doubt that you’ve got this.” He smiles then and she finds herself returning it, holding out her drink as he brings his forward to clink the glass lightly. She takes a long gulp and it tastes like victory.

 

The day she leaves for her new job, she is buzzing with adrenalin, her anger a fire deep in her belly, zinging through her nerves. These people at Alexandria, they are weak and it is only a matter of time before the dead take them. The Wolves can bring them to their knees, to keep them going, to keep them alive. She gives the leader a solid nod, her unruly hair in a matted ponytail high on her head, weapons a comfortable weight on her hips. She smiles from the passenger seat of the truck as they speed in convoy to the new town.

 

They camp a few miles off, meeting up with the scouts. The men listen to her every order, what she says goes, there has been no debate on that since some wandering hands lost their fingers to her knife weeks ago. The scouts tell her all they know of the town, all they have learned since the last report. There are what appears to be cops walking the streets, there is a construction crew that is made up of mostly careless clumsy men and women that go out alone quite far to gather supplies. There were two men that left a while ago on a bike and in a car. It’s been days and they haven’t returned. And there is the sniper. They have watched her carefully, watched her walk alone in the forest, watched her take down small herds by herself, watched her draw walkers to her, hitting every one with a clean head shot.

 

That night, Beth lies in the quiet dark, they keep no fire, the evening is fairly warm. The sounds of the forest are soothing and as a welcome breeze plucks at a few loose hairs, she thinks about the sniper, wonders if she is angry too. Wonders why she leaves the walls so often, formulates their plan of action. The next morning, she gathers her men, gives them their orders, hears no arguments. This is her show. They take the sniper the next time she leaves alone. She is focused on the walkers ambling towards her silenced rifle, leaving her back open to them. They take her easily, four men leave for the task, four men return. She is hooded when she is brought back to their temporary camp. They take two more women when they come out looking for the sniper. They are harder, more wary and two men come back severely injured but with the captives subdued. All are hooded and kept in separate cars while Beth waits to make her next move. Later, in the afternoon, the scouts send word again, there were raised voices in the town, a fight of some sort, blood was spilled and two men were pulled away unconscious. They fight amongst themselves in this time bomb of a town, more weakness, more reasons for their camp to fall.

 

That night, when the warm air of the day has melted down to a slight chill and the forest has come alive with the sounds of the darkness, they pack up camp. The captives are brought with them as the group moves quietly towards the town. Beth feels the crunch of the leaves lightly under her feet, feels her breath coming quicker as they near the gates, the adrenalin pumping through her veins as the anger surges faster and faster. These weak people will bow to her. She is strong. She is a bad person. She is of this world.

 

The watcher at the gate spots them first, as Beth had predicted. She can hear the panicked words over a crackling walkie as they come into view, hooded hostages first. There are 20 Wolves here in total, five on foot in view, five bringing cars up slowly behind, ten in the cover of the darkness, making their way around the walls, securing the other gates and moving up along the struts at the back of the compound. The headlights of the Wolves’ cars behind them switched on not long after the walkie crackles again, Beth can see the light glinting off the scope of the unmanned sniper’s rifle, moths fluttering in the harsh glare from the sudden light behind them, silhouetting their shapes, lighting up the entrance. There is movement then, behind the gates, boots on the ground echo through the night and shouts can be heard. They are unprepared, this has never happened to them before. Beth would smile if the anger wasn’t seething so close to the surface. Their walls are high, their defences should be strong, but they are weak and they deserve everything they get. Her hands are steady, her gun warm in her firm grip. Her knives are ready on her belt, her pockets filled with ammo. Her eyes are narrowed, hair pulled back. Her forehead is wrinkled in determination, the scars there taught on her skin. Her men are confident at her sides, guns trained on hostages. The energy is a tangible presence rolling through the night. She is ready. The Wolves are ready.

 

The first gate is pulled back a ways, it’s screech cutting through the tension as a gun appears in the gap, followed by a face. It is wary but determined and through the shadows, Beth thinks the man looks strong. He is dark haired and from what little she can see, soft featured, Asian. _Korean._ That word flutters from somewhere in the darkness at the back of her mind. He is Korean. She has no idea how she knows. It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. There is the living and the dead, the only thing she cares about is how strong he is, how hard it will be to control him, how useful he can be to her, to them. Beth eyes him carefully from her place among her men. She is in shadows, out of the reach of the light, she knows they can’t see her, not clearly at least. With a quick, quiet word, one of her men moves forward with a hostage, the woman who had no gun when they took her. He is rough as he shoves her in front of him and she stumbles a little with her hands behind her back and her head covered. He moves with her clearly into the light before ripping the hood off with one hand, pressing his gun more firmly against the back of her head with the other. There is a moment then when time almost pauses. The woman is squinting in the sudden light, her chest heaving as her hands twist painfully behind her. She looks to the man at the gate and her dark eyes hold something that is not quite fear, more like anticipation. She has faith in this man, she clearly thinks he is strong. The moment is cut as a rough voice hammers out “Rosita!” Another man appears behind the first, rifle raised high, his red hair glows in the light, his brow furrowed, arms taught. He looks angry, Beth smiles at the thought as the first man speaks. “What do you want?” His voice is clear and calm, but Beth thinks she can hear a trace of panic buried in his practised tone. He is scared, he doesn’t want to lose these people, not just because they are part of his group, but because he cares. More weakness. Another word from her and the second hostage is brought forward in the same fashion. They come to a halt by the first and dark dreadlocks spill from the hood as it is ripped away. This woman looks angry, she looks ready to burst. Her body looks strong, her gaze fierce. Beth wonders how she can to let her guard down like she did. How she came to be out in the forest with only a gun and a knife and focus split enough for them to take her down. Beth doesn’t want to hurt these people, she just wants them to comply. There are more shouts from behind the gate, more boots running, away this time. The Korean man’s aim doesn’t falter as he addresses them again, “you have our people, what do you want?” Still, Beth doesn’t answer, only gives the quiet word again and the last hostage is brought forward into the light. She doesn’t flinch when the hood is removed, doesn’t squint in the glare, she keeps her head down and her eyes closed, as if she is trying to control her breathing.

 

There is no more time to consider the hostages, they are there in the light for all to see, to keep all attention on the front, at the gate. Beth stays in the darkness with her last man for a moment, waiting, waiting for a sign that the others have made it through, have made it in and are ready.

 

She breathes deeply, the cool air filling up her lungs, trying to contain the thrum of energy threatening to burst through her chest. _Remain calm, remain cool, everything is going according to plan_. There is obvious panic among the residents, she can see more shapes moving frantically behind the two guns at the gate. Then, echoing through the darkness, a gun shot, followed shortly by a scream, shouts, more gunshots. They were in. The men at the gate are clearly torn, turning their attention from the Wolves at their door to the ones already inside. More shots, more screams, she recognises the shouts of some of her men. She smiles, waiting, confident in the fighters she sent in. All strong, all quick, all quiet, skilled and brutal. There are very few fighters among the residents of the town, especially with the three captives, and the two men distracted at the gate. Then, bursting above the town, a flare rockets among the stars. The residents are subdued. A slow smile creeps over her pale features as she watches the fear, anger and confusion on the faces of the two men at the gate. They turn; there must be guns at them from both sides now. With a cry from the Korean man as he looks behind into the town, she knows her men must have the hostages in sight, he must care about at least one of them. Still, on their side, no words have been spoken, no words have been needed. The two men at the gate slowly lower their guns, obviously prompted to do so by her men inside. They kneel, as from the darkness behind them, shapes move up, removing their weapons. She catches one of her men’s eyes; he smiles, giving her thumbs up. It is done, it is done and it was so easy. The two men at the gate are lead away. Their three female hostages have their hoods replaced.

 

The gate screeches open through the sudden quiet. Any shouts or screams having ceased. Beth and her men move forward at her nod, casually strolling through the open entrance. A lone walker groans towards her from the side, she lifts her knife without even looking, barely breaking her stride. She follows her men with the hostages towards the centre of the town, the large open streets and big, clean houses look fairly bizarre in contrast to other places she has seen. What a strange way to live. Rounding the corner, a lake becomes visible, it’s water black and calm. The bushes rustle in a light wind and she shivers slightly in the chill, as the movement runs down her spine, she smiles again. Tonight is going well. The anger creeps in her fingers, bringing them into tight fists before flexing out and dropping at her sides. She rolls her shoulders, this should be interesting.

 

Her men have rounded the residents up into the road, all are hooded, all are kneeling, the three women they took as a show of power and a distraction are added to the group. Whimpers and soft sobbing fill the air. There are more than they first thought, most look weak, her eyes wash over them, quickly dismissing all but a few when she sees the fear shaking hands and quivering bodies. She has no room for fear. She stands in front of the group, her men smile at her, she nods, they know they have done well. One approaches her quietly, whispered words, they lost three in the scuffle to gun fire. One is injured with a knife to the leg. She nods, not bad, it could definitely be worse. The ones lost were good, not her best but still a loss. The pay off here would have to be worth it, would have to be enough to show up back at camp with, to impress the leader. She grasps his shoulder briefly, moving towards the huddled hostages, levelling her stance.

 

“Which one of you is the leader?” Her voice rings out clear, the first time she has addressed this group, there can be no quiver, no room for doubt. When no one answers, she gestures to one the smaller captives. He is lifted roughly to his feet with a whimper, a woman next to him shouts out, struggling against the bonds on her hands. She is silenced with a quick blow to the side of her head by a Wolf’s gun. She falls like a sack of potatoes to the side as the boy is brought forward. Beth gently removes his hood, taking in his young face, his hair is pale, almost gingery, the thin strands stick to his face in sweat. His eyes are panicked, his body shaking, breathing rapid. She smiles at him gently, bringing a hand up to softly brush the greasy hair across his head. She speaks to him quietly, lightly,  “Hello, my name’s Beth. Do you think you would be able to tell me the name of who is in charge in your nice town? We really don’t want to hurt anyone, but I do need to have a word with the boss. Do you think you could help me out?” Every word drips with a honey she didn’t know she possessed any more, she can’t remember talking to a child like this, their jobs normally require nothing but brute force with occasional soft words. She has had little interaction with children, but she is nothing if not adaptable, is aware of her soft voice, her blonde hair, her blue eyes. She knows the way men have looked at her on her travels, knows a little kindness and honey in her tone have worked countless times before, knows the knife slips in easier when they are looking at fluttering eyelids. Knows it will work now. The boy sniffles at her, nods at her smile, takes in the same mask that others have before, it may be marred by small scars but the eyes are just as blue, the hair just as blonde, the words gentle and reassuring. She knows the boy believes her, knows he doesn’t want anyone to get hurt. He mumble some words out, before saying louder, between sniffles, looking between her eyes and his own feet. “She’s called Deanna. Please don’t hurt my mom again. Please.” He begins to cry now and Beth frowns slightly, “Your mom is the leader?” He shakes his head quickly, a snot trail drips down his lip and Beth looks away in disgust, straightening up and replacing his hood and gesturing for him to be taken away. Deanna, she wasn’t expecting a woman, well, she thinks with a snort, they probably weren’t either. “Ok, Deanna, I would like to have a little word, no one needs to get hurt, everyone just needs to keep calm. Which one of you is Deanna?” She eyes the quiet group of hooded people, irritation plucks at her skin, the anger twisting as her jaw tenses. What fucking cowards. A woman speaks out, her voice muffled by the cloth, Beth’s head snaps to the sound, surprised. “I’m Deanna.” It sounds defiant but still filled with fear. Beth purses her lips a little. One of her men removes the woman’s hood. She is nothing like what Beth expected, older, maybe sixty, her face screwed up, eyes narrowed, mouth pursed. Her hair is dishevelled, a bruise blossoming on one cheek. Beth watches her for a moment before moving closer, her own eyes narrowing as they meet Deanna’s. She spreads her arms as she speaks, “Well! Here we are. Thank you for the welcome party, you are very gracious hosts.” She gestures to the men positioned around the group, “We are they Wolves, it’s wonderful to meet you. You seem to be doing real well here, what wonderful walls you have, what well fed people.” She moves closer to the still defiant woman, crouching in front of her, hands resting casually over her knees. She breathes deeply and smiles at the woman. “Here’s the thing Deanna, we’ve been watching you for a while I’m afraid. We know pretty much everything about your little community here and we’re impressed. Great walls, great supplies, even electricity! All very impressive, you should be proud of yourself. You see, there is something you are severely lacking in though, didn’t take us long to realise, your defences suck. Barely any fighters, only one sniper, nothing against the walkers but your pretty walls. There’s a lot of walkers out there you know, weird thing, we’ve seen even more than normal wondering around in the area, headed in this direction. You might even call it a herd. I wonder what your pretty walls would be like against so many? I wonder what they would be like against any number, if they were to be, I don’t know, compromised some how, accidents do happen.” The woman continued to hold her gaze as Beth stood and moved back to the front of the group, speaking louder, she addressed them as a whole. “You are lucky we came along, it’s a risky thing you’ve got here, it only takes one mishap, one herd at the wrong time, this whole place could come crumbling down, these kids, these older folks, these weak people who have been comfortable for too long, they’ll all be chewed to shit. It won’t take long, one second everything’s fine, the next second everyone’s screaming and your little world is a bloody fucking mess.” She spits out the last words, the anger rising now. “Now, we aren’t monsters, we are willing to help you, for a price. There will no dead darkening your door, from now on, that is something you don’t need to worry about any more. The dead are not your problem, you can hide behind your walls and carry on, have your fucking parties and get fat, I don’t care, but they are our problem now, we’re taking them off your hands. All we want in return, is a fair trade, tonight, as a good will gesture, we’ll leave you half of everything you have in your storeroom. Except your guns, you won’t need them any more, but food and medicine, we’ll just take half, we’re not animals.” As she speaks, she sees the men from the cars unloading supplies into the vehicles, there is a lot of boxes, this is going to be a very good haul. She snorts at the ridiculousness of these people, the anger burning in her chest. “How the fuck have you even survived this long? Jesus, you’re so fucking weak, you don’t deserve this, and we should just kill you all, you useless fucking idiots.” She takes a deep breath, closing her eyes briefly. Smiling, she releases the lungful of cool air, _keep calm, use the anger_. She watches the men moving the supplies for a moment before speaking again. “Now, I want you all to remember this day, this is the day your town changed hands. I want you all to get a good look at me, because we will be back regularly to keep you safe and claim our price” She gestures to her men, who move through the group, removing hoods, giving kicks and shoves when required.

 

Smiling, her blue eyes take in the mixture of faces, she sees a lot of fear, worry, panic. She sees anger too, determination and bitterness. She sees shock on a few faces, a shocked confusion she can’t put her finger on, mouths agape from the Korean man, a brunette woman sporting a large cut, two of her first hostages, a man covered in cuts and bruises with a growing beard, a grey haired woman, and a teenager wearing a sheriff’s hat. The stares unnerve her, no one has looked at her like this before, the feeling is disconcerting, it makes her even angrier. She approaches the teenager quickly, delivering a sharp kick to his side, plucking the hat off his head as he grunts and twists in pain. Placing the hat on her head, she smiles to the group, “This is my place now, everything you have is mine. There’s a new sheriff in town. Don’t you fucking forget it.”  The brunette woman’s mouth is moving, as if making words with no sounds. Beth thinks she looks pathetic.

 

Those few still stare at her with a strange mix of disgust, shock and horror as she turns and moves with her men back towards the gates, leaving the town members still bound by cable ties. They have left them their knives, they will be able to free themselves. She moves her men quickly out to the road, back into the cars, closing the gate behind them, they are soon speeding away into the dawn, the wind whipping her long blonde hair around her face as she fingers the brim of her new sheriff’s hat. Today was a good day. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had very little time, like the first chapter, this is another bashed out rant so proofing is probably horrific, sorry about that!

**Author's Note:**

> So this is basically Negan but I didn't wanna make him actually Negan because I haven't read that far in the comic books so didn't want to get him wrong so the leader of the Wolves is just very loosely based on him minus Lucille.


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